


Slings & Arrows

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch is accused of child abuse, and Starsky sets out to find the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slings & Arrows

Written: 2005

First published in "Brotherhood 5" (2008, Pyramids Press)

            It came at a bad time. 

            But then, it was bad all around.

            The end of summer and the arrival of cool weather had apparently brought back the criminal element that had been lying low in the August heat. Everything from petty crimes to homicide was on the rise. The usual dozen or so open cases each detective had on his desk had nearly doubled. Overtime was fast becoming a way of life, and only the hope that things would soon settle down again allowed the weary detectives of the Special Units Division to keep going despite exhaustion. 

            So it was with some measure of distraction that Dave Starsky pulled himself to his feet and trudged after his partner to answer Dobey’s summons. If the captain tried to pawn one more case off on them, they would simply have to refuse, he decided. Hutch was starting to look like one of those fresh cadavers in the morgue, and Starsky didn’t feel much livelier himself. 

            Dobey straightened as Starsky came in and reached to shut the door behind them. “Not you, Starsky. I want to speak to Hutchinson privately.” 

            That caught his attention. Starsky could see his partner rouse at it, too, turning to exchange a look with him. “Cap’n—” Starsky began to protest.

            “No buts, Starsky. This is a private matter.” 

            “Sir,” Hutch broke in, “if this is about me, I want him here.” 

            Starsky almost smiled at that. He had rights as a partner, but this was friendship talking. Then Dobey’s sober face caught his attention, and his pleasure faded, knowing this wasn’t going to be good. 

            Dobey nodded grimly at Hutch’s request, shifting papers uncomfortably on his desk for a long minute. This was looking worse all the time. Starsky could sense the shift in Hutch, tension locking his muscles as he came to the same conclusion. The captain wasn’t usually one to hesitate. 

“Hutch,” Dobey finally said, “do you know a Colleen and Karen Clifford?”

            Hutch frowned. Even Starsky recognized those names; Colleen he didn’t know so well, but her daughter, Karen, was a lively ten-year-old strawberry blonde who’d won Hutch’s heart. 

            “Sure,” Hutch was answering. “Colleen lives down the street and sometimes I take care of Karen for her.” 

            “So you’ve been alone with the little girl before?” Dobey continued.

            The hair on Starsky’s arms and neck started to prickle. That line of questioning sounded almost like...but that couldn’t be, could it? He took a step closer to his partner, standing inches from Hutch’s side.

            Hutch hadn’t even gotten that far with his train of thought, clearly confused by the whole matter. “Yeah, a few times when Colleen had to go out and couldn’t get her usual sitter. Did something happen to them?”

            Dobey cleared his throat, his eyes anywhere but on Hutch.

Starsky’s unease turned into genuine panic. Oh, God, it really was. 

            “Ken Hutchinson, as of this moment, you’re under suspension pending the outcome of a criminal investigation on the suspicion of child abuse. IA will want you to answer a few questions at some point.” Then, more softly, “In the meantime, I’ll need your badge and gun, Hutch.” 

            The shock was unbelievable, the words not meaning much because they were so impossible. And Starsky had at least been bracing himself for them. 

Hutch stood slack-jawed, his face nearly as pale as his hair, like he’d been hit by something huge and didn’t even know it yet. “Child abuse?” he finally stammered. “No...not Karen?” He grew even whiter at the thought.

            Starsky grabbed his partner’s arm and gently shoved him down into the chair behind him before Hutch keeled over. One hand firmly planted on Hutch’s shoulder, he turned to Dobey and angrily took up the argument. “Child abuse?! C’mon, Captain, you don’t believe that. Who said—”  
            “The little girl, Karen Clifford,” Dobey said, still quiet. “They have a signed affidavit she gave a therapist—”

            “Karen said I...?” Hutch couldn’t even finish the sentence, his soft voice broken at the thought. “I could never—”

            “’Course you couldn’t.” Starsky looked down at him, alarmed by the dazed look he was seeing. Even a squeeze of Hutch’s shoulder brought no response. This couldn’t be happening, not to Hutch. Fury for his partner’s sake returned as Starsky glanced at their boss again. “Cap’n, she’s wrong. I’m not saying she’s lying, but maybe someone got to her, confused her. Hutch couldn’t do something like this, you know that!” 

            Dobey nodded. “Yes, I do, Starsky,” he said patiently, “but what I know or don’t know has nothing to do with this. He’s not being charged yet—they don’t have enough proof. But suspension is SOP and my hands are tied. Until IA’s investigation is over, he has to turn in his badge and gun.” 

            Hutch, quiet until then and content to let his partner and boss argue his fate, suddenly stood and pulled his gun, placing it on Dobey’s desk, followed by his badge. Without looking at either of them, he turned and strode out the door into the hall. 

            Starsky pressed his lips together, wanting to do the ranting Hutch seemed to be avoiding, but one look at his captain reminded him he’d be tearing into the wrong person. Dobey looked troubled and sorry, too, but he could do no more. Which meant it was time to find those responsible for this insanity. He whirled to follow his partner. 

            “Starsky!”

            Dobey’s sharp call reluctantly pulled him up short, and Starsky turned with ill-disguised impatience. 

            But all Dobey said, not without sympathy, was, “Do what you can.” 

            Starsky softened a fraction, nodding, and walked out the door. 

            He didn’t used to be good at controlling his feelings. The Army had taught him some discipline, but still, everyone knew when Private Starsky was angry, didn’t matter if it cost him an extra fifty push-ups. It had only been learning to care about someone regardless of his own needs and wants that had allowed him to short out the anger when necessary, even if it was anger for his friend’s sake. There were other priorities now. 

            The ire seemed pretty unimportant the moment he caught sight of his partner. Hutch sat on a bench farther down the hall, head bowed and hands clenched whitely on the edge of the seat, body bent like a drawn bow, ready to snap. Starsky winced. He could only imagine what kind of weight was pressing down on those shoulders. He walked over with slow steps and sat next to his partner, gripping his shoulder again. 

            Hutch didn’t even look at him, just took a deep breath, and Starsky looked for words without finding any that sounded good. “Hutch...we’re gonna prove you didn’t do this.” 

            “I’m on suspension,” Hutch answered hollowly, eyes on the floor. “And Karen said—”

            “She’s a ten-year-old kid, Hutch. They’re still pretty gullible at that age. Somebody confused her, and you just happen to be the one she’s pointing a finger at.” 

            “I would never—” 

            “Hey, hey, I know that.” Starsky’s hand slid up to his partner’s neck. “You don’t have to tell me there’s no way you could ever do anything like that.” 

            “Poor Karen,” Hutch murmured. “And Colleen...” He shook his head. 

            Starsky grimaced wearily. The ramifications of the situation had hardly begun to sink in yet. He was already dreading when they did. “We’ll figure this out, partner, I promise.” 

            Hutch nodded, but it was a dull, automatic motion that implied no agreement whatsoever. Starsky stifled a curse at his partner’s tenderheartedness. Under the tough street veneer, the blond was one of the most empathetic people Starsky had ever seen, ready to feel for every victim. And, therefore, allowing himself too easily to get hurt. 

            “C’mon, buddy, I’m gonna take you home,” he nudged Hutch, angry all over again at the lack of response. Hutch was no pushover and could fight back for himself just fine, thank you. But this, an accusation from a kid he cared and worried about...this was something out of both their leagues. Hutch would fight for the kid, but by the time it occurred to him to look after himself, too, it might be too late. Which meant Starsky would have to do the looking after for a while.

            But then, that was his job, wasn’t it?

            Hutch didn’t say a word as Starsky led him out to the Torino, but they hadn’t driven far before Hutch’s fist was bouncing against his leg. Starsky watched it with interest, knowing Hutch wasn’t the fidgety one in the partnership. A few more blocks, and the leg started tapping, too. Explosion waiting to happen or simple coming back to life, Starsky wasn’t sure, just waited silently to find out. 

            “Somebody hurt her,” Hutch finally snapped. 

            Starsky nodded. “Yeah.” 

            “They wouldn’t just take her word for it without some kind of proof. Bruises or marks or...” His eyes winced shut, imagining the “or.” 

Starsky reached over and patted his partner's clenched fist. It was cold. “Yeah,” he just repeated quietly. 

            “But why would she say it was me?” Hutch sounded bewildered. “I haven’t even seen her in a couple weeks.” 

            Starsky had been thinking about that one, too. “Maybe she’s coverin’ for somebody.” 

            “She’s a good girl, Starsky—she wouldn’t lie.” 

            “I didn’t say she lied,” Starsky said patiently. “Maybe she just...can’t handle what happened, or that someone she trusts did that to her, so she’s lookin’ for somebody else to blame.” 

            Hutch looked at him sharply. “You mean, somebody she’s really close to abused her.” 

            Starsky shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” A pause as he gauged his next words. “How well do you know Colleen?”

            “She wouldn’t do that, Starsky.” The response was immediate and angry. 

            “You sure?” 

            “Yes.”

            Hutch was probably not the most objective person at that moment, but Starsky trusted his judgment and shuffled the woman to the bottom of his mental list of suspects. “Okay, how ’bout the dad?”

            “He’s been out of the picture for years.” 

            “Anybody else around? Grandparents, uncles?”

            “No.” Hutch sounded weary again. “That’s why I helped out—Colleen doesn’t have anybody.” 

            They pulled up in front of Venice Place. “Hey,” Starsky said, “it’s a start.” 

            Hutch looked at him a moment, so much emotion in plain view that Starsky nearly cringed at it. 

And then Hutch dragged that world-weary smile out, the one that meant he was at least trying even though the weight of the world was crushing him. “Right.” He tore his eyes away, glanced up at his building. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do here the rest of the day.” 

            Starsky smiled back, softer and with a little more hope. “Go take a walk. Nice day to go down to the beach. Get a hot dog, watch a few girls.” 

            It coaxed a little lightening into his partner’s face. “Hot dog, huh? Where are you gonna be?”

            He’d been thinking about that, too. “I’m gonna go talk to IA.” 

            The intensity immediately returned. “I should go—”

            He stopped his friend with a look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Starsky said gently. “They’ll call you when they want you, but with the investigation open, they wouldn’t be allowed to tell me anything with you there, you know that. Stay here, try to relax—I’ll find you when I’m done.”

            Hutch’s face was tight, but he knew Starsky was right. A jerked nod and he started to climb out of the car.

            “Hey.” 

            Hutch froze.

            “Just don’t think too hard, huh?” Starsky tentatively touched his arm. 

            A second passed before Hutch got out without looking back. 

            Starsky swallowed. No matter how this turned out, it was going to be tough on Hutch. You didn’t shake off an accusation like that lightly even if it was proved false, and if he wasn’t cleared... The end of Hutch’s career would be the least of their problems. 

            The door of the apartment building shut on the round-shouldered figure. Starsky sighed and started up the car again. He had some work to do. 

            IA was not known for being approachable during the best of times, and a child abuse case would be kept even more under wraps than usual because of its sensitive nature and the need to protect the child. Starsky understood all that, even approved of it usually. But that didn’t stop him from trying to get around it this time. 

            Contrary to cops’ opinions, though, Internal Affairs was not made up of monsters. There were a few bad apples, yeah, including the recently exposed and arrested Lieutenant Fargo, but several of Starsky and Hutch’s friends and colleagues had rotated through the Department. And it was one of those who, after receiving an edited explanation of the situation, agreed to dig up whatever information possible for Starsky. 

            The good news was that, while the full medical report on Karen was confidential, it quickly became clear she hadn’t been sexually abused, nor battered beyond some bruising and tenderness. That would make Hutch feel better. Nor did it seem to be long-term abuse, which both fit the girl’s behavior and strengthened Hutch’s case. The problem now was just figuring out the “who.” 

            And so it was that Starsky spent the rest of the afternoon making careful inquiries about Colleen Clifford, her ex-husband Matt, and every other adult he could find who came into regular contact with Karen. No one stood out, though; few had unsupervised access to the girl. Hutch wasn’t the guilty party, of course, but that just meant someone else was, possibly the same person who’d “encouraged” Karen to accuse Hutch. Just the idea of somebody doing that to a little girl was enough to make Starsky burn, but to then pull his partner into it... Fury was a powerful motivator, and Starsky was giving it free rein now in order to end this ordeal as quickly as possible. 

            But between the need for discretion and the large amount of possibilities, it was slow going. Six o’clock rolled around before Starsky realized it, three hours past the end of his shift. He hated the idea of quitting without anything to show for his work, and hated even more having to tell Hutch. But he was worried about his partner. Child abuse cases were bad enough, but it was far worse when it was someone you knew. The ramifications of being accused probably hadn’t even hit Hutch yet. Starsky didn’t want to leave him to dwell on it too long, and so he pulled the paperwork into one file, tucked it under his arm, and left. 

            Halfway to Venice, it occurred to him that, more than likely, Hutch hadn’t even thought about food, let alone done something about dinner. Starsky detoured to one of his partner’s favorite joints to pick up something disgustingly healthy for his Hutch and only mildly healthy for himself. Not that he was feeling much like food, either, for once, but Hutch was skinny as it was and needed to eat. 

            Truth be told, the whole thing made Starsky sick. Anyone who knew Hutch knew he had a real soft spot for kids. Babies were a little out of his line, Starsky thought with a grin, but any munchkin he could talk to and play with quickly won his heart, and vice-versa. Kids knew when someone honestly cared for them, and responded in kind. 

            Starsky had only met Karen a few brief times, usually when he was coming and she was just going, but she’d certainly seemed to be in the Hutchinson Fan Club, too. Starsky couldn’t remember any body language that hinted of unease or distress around Hutch, and Starsky had seen enough abused children to know the signs. Not that he needed proof of Hutch’s innocence; there were few things Starsky would have staked his life on without hesitation, but one of those was his partner’s character. However, it still begged the question, why would Karen accuse Hutch of something like that? She seemed like a good kid, the kind who understood good from bad. A ten-year-old might even have some concept of what kind of damage she could do with a false accusation. Someone had hurt her, but why would she say it was Hutch? 

            Starsky sighed, rubbing his forehead as he turned the last corner to Venice Place. Why, indeed? The sooner they figured this out, the sooner Hutch would be back on the streets with him. 

            The small crowd of media in front of the apartment building immediately torched his optimism.

            With a sinking heart, Starsky pulled up to the curb behind a Channel 8 news truck. He approached the reporters warily, noting that at least one camera was trained up toward the lit and curtained living room windows of Hutch’s place. 

            “What’s going on here?” he growled.

            “Detective Starsky!” As one, the media knot turned to face him, unfamiliar faces lighting up with glee at his arrival. “Detective, what do you think about the current investigation into your partner’s alleged child abuse charges?”

            Charges? Oh, God. The sick feeling grew, as did the rage. Someone had set the jackals on Hutch, and there’d be no easy way of calling them back. “Any possible investigation would be extremely preliminary at this time and probably only to rule out involvement.” 

            “Probably? So there is reason to—”

            He didn’t know why he ever bothered, except the lies dug into him like barbs. Starsky just hoped his partner hadn’t been caught by this mob. “Maybe you should wait until you have some proof before you vultures tear a good man down,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “I have to go—any further questions can be directed to Captain Harold Dobey, Special Units Division.” Without further delay, Starsky shouldered through them and took the stairs two at a time. 

            He didn’t knock. There was no way Hutch didn’t know what was going on below, and anyone at the door would be suspect. Starsky just let himself in with his key.

            He didn’t miss the tight, startled turn of the blond head by the window. Hutch had been staring through the slit in the curtains. 

Starsky cleared his throat. “I brought dinner.”

“You sure it’s feeding time at the zoo yet?”

He’d hoped for anger, frustration, even dismay. This hollow sound in Hutch’s voice just carved a deeper notch in Starsky’s gut. The last time he’d seen his partner, Hutch had been subdued, not lifeless like this. 

            He stopped, giving Hutch a long, loaded look. “Forget ’em. Soon as they get a whiff of trouble someplace else, they’ll be gone. IA might even clear you before then.” 

            A humorless laugh. “Right. And everyone’ll just forget I was investigated for child abuse. Suspicions like that don’t just go away, Starsky.” 

            “When they arrest the scumbag that did this, it’s gonna clear you, Hutch.” 

            Hutch came away from the window. “Officially.” 

            “Don’t worry about the rest. It won’t be the people who matter.” 

            Hutch sighed, then gave a laugh. “You know, I’d actually started thinking for a while there that this won’t be such a big deal, it’ll blow over fast. That nobody will know except IA. _Everyone’s_ gonna know this, Starsky.” He thrust a finger toward the window.

            “The important ones will know the truth.” 

            Hutch hesitated, then deflated, coming over to sink down on the couch. “You talk to IA today?”

Starsky nodded, holding up the file.

            “It’s true, isn’t it?” Hutch asked softly.

            Starsky sighed, coming over to sit next to his partner. “It’s true somebody’s been hurtin’ her, yeah. We just gotta figure out who.”

            Hutch took a moment before sliding closer to Starsky, eyes on the file. “I can’t figure it out, Starsk—why would she pick me? I can’t think of anything I did that might’ve...but why would she lie?”

            This was the part where he really hated not having answers for his partner. Starsky shrugged, trying to look more unconcerned than he felt. “Maybe sayin’ you did it makes it easier for her to live with. Maybe it’s because she knows you wouldn’t do something like that, so she figures you’re safe. I don’t know—she’s a scared kid. Who knows why she picked you?”

            It was, in retrospect, not the most reassuring answer he could have given. He was worried about his partner, but Hutch was worried about Karen, and the concerns Starsky had just painted for her would not be encouraging. He realized that a moment too late, however, as Hutch’s expression twisted, then shut down as he picked up the file. 

            Starsky could have kicked himself. “Hutch—”

            “Let me read this.” 

            All business. That seemed to be how Hutch needed to play this. Starsky slowly nodded. Business it would be then. For now. 

            The food never did get eaten, and when Starsky walked out of the building two hours later, angrily shouldering aside two reporters, it was with greater worry than when he’d arrived. They had to solve this one fast. He wasn’t going to even speculate on what would be left of Hutch if they didn’t. 

            A barely controlled call to Dobey when he got home netted the information that the leak about Hutch had occurred at the hospital where Karen had been examined, and “they were looking into it.” For all the good that did Hutch, penned up in his apartment.

            The night was a sleepless one, and Starsky just glimpsed his partner’s picture on the front page of the paper the next morning before he threw it away, hands shaking.

            “Ms. Clifford? My name is Detective—”

            “Starsky.” She nodded, leaning a little closer to her half-opened door as if she needed the support. “I remember.” 

            “I’m sorry to bother you right now, but I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.” 

            She glanced past him now. “Is Ken with you?” she asked hesitantly.           

            He kept his face carefully neutral as he shook his head. Hutch would have wanted to come if he’d known, but that would have been a disaster; either she would have attacked him or tried to protect him, and neither would allow Starsky to find out what he needed. 

            Colleen looked him in the eye and nodded, easing the door back. “All right, come in.” 

            He did, moving slowly, assessing as he went. The small bungalow was really built for one, not a mother and daughter. Old furniture, children’s drawings on the wall, it was clean but worn. Typical single-parent home, of a parent who cared. He turned back to Colleen. “Is your daughter—”

            “She’s in school now. She feels okay, and I thought it would be best to keep her in her routine as much as possible.” 

            Starsky nodded. It would make things a little easier. He sat down on the one chair in the room, leaving the sofa to Colleen, which she sank down on. She looked tired, too, wary in a way that didn’t match the memories of the sunny woman he’d met before. Starsky cleared his throat. “I’m really sorry about what happened.” 

            “Yeah. Me, too.” 

            Starsky shifted, not sure how to ask his first question. “Ms. Clifford—”

            She sighed. “Look, Detective Starsky, I’ll be honest with you. If you’d told me a week ago Ken abused a child, I would’ve said you were crazy. I’ve only known him a year, but I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. But...when my daughter said he’d...he’d hit her...” She struggled to maintain a slipping composure. 

            Starsky hadn’t been able to shake his resentment before he’d come, no matter how well he hid it, but those last few minutes had evaporated the anger. Colleen Clifford was a victim in this, too, and Starsky couldn’t be mad at her for that. He leaned forward, openly sympathetic. “Ms. Clifford, when did your daughter first mention this to you?”

            She swallowed, took a deep breath. “Two days ago. I noticed a bruise on her arm and I asked her about it. She tried to dismiss it, but then she started to cry, and...” Colleen bit her lip. 

            Starsky nodded. He was here without IA’s permission or knowledge, and knew he was treading on thin ice even with the mother’s obvious emotional involvement. He chose his next words carefully. “Had Karen been with Hutch—Ken—recently?”

            Colleen shook her head. “I don’t know—she walks down sometimes after school to visit with him if I’m not home yet. When she’s let out of school, she’s supposed to go to our neighbor’s until I get here, but she likes to hang out with Ken or some of her friends.”

            “And your neighbor is...?” 

            “Mrs. Willis. She’s in her upper sixties, one of those grandmother  
types who knits. I can’t believe she’d have something to do with this.”

            That didn’t sound likely, either, but IA would check her out more thoroughly. Starsky nodded. “And your husband?”

            “I haven’t seen Matt in a couple of years. I don’t know if he’s still in town.” 

            He was, that much Starsky knew, and was still a loose end he hadn’t tracked down yet. Starsky closed his notebook and met her eyes. “Ms. Clifford, do you remember anything that might help with this investigation? Anything Karen might’ve said, how she reacted to Ken or to anybody else that was kind of strange, anyone new in her life lately, maybe a recent change of behavior?”

            Colleen’s expression hardened, and Starsky knew the ice under him had just cracked. “I may not be home all the time for my daughter, but I do know Karen, Detective. She was fine up until this week. The only thing that’s changed now is that my little girl doesn’t want to see your partner anymore, and that she has bruises where she shouldn’t. You put that together and see if you come up with any other conclusions.” 

            Karen didn’t want to see Hutch. Guilt, fear of reprisal, or something more? Had she come to believe Hutch really was her abuser? It wasn’t hard to confuse a kid. But if she did, it would make the case a whole lot harder to shake open. Starsky nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, Ms. Clifford,” he said earnestly, and stood. “Thank you for your time.” 

            She gave him a stiff nod, and didn’t stand with him to see him to the door. Their discussion was over. 

            Starsky walked to the front door, only a dozen feet away, then stopped, unable to leave her with the conclusion she’d obviously reached and no argument from him. “Ms. Clifford? You’re not the only one beatin’ yourself up over this. You’ve got a friend down the street whose life is going down the drain, and all he’s worried about is your daughter and wondering if he missed some sign of what was happening to her. Listen to your daughter, but keep her close, ’cause we don’t have the right guy yet. And I think you know that.” 

            She didn’t say anything, just stared at him. 

            Starsky bobbed his head respectfully and went out the door, making sure it locked behind him. He paused a moment, gathering himself again, then went back to the Torino. He needed to go see his partner. 

            There were still two trucks parked in front of Hutch’s apartment building, but no one was waiting outside. Starsky hurried in before they could remedy that, and once again took out his key to get in. 

Hutch opened the door before he could, looking like he hadn’t slept any more than Starsky had, but his eyebrows went up, faintly inquisitive. “Checking up on me?” The question had some edge to it. “’Cause I’ve got my own watchdogs now, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

            Starsky ignored it, stepping past him into the apartment. “I just saw Colleen.” 

            He could feel Hutch still for a moment behind him, then the door firmly shut. “How did it go?” Hutch asked with a lightness that seemed grotesquely forced. 

Starsky didn’t go for that, either, turning back to give his partner a grim look. “She doesn’t want to believe you did it, but...”

            “Her daughter says I did.” Hutch dropped the dishtowel he’d been holding onto the table by the couch and sank down in a chair,snorting a soft, mirthless laugh. “You wanna know something? I’m starting to feel responsible.” 

            Starsky’s eyes narrowed. “Hutch.” 

            “It’s not like... Starsky, I don’t really think I...hurt her. I mean, sure, I keep going over the last time she was here, trying to think if I touched her, how I touched her, if I might’ve bumped her or grabbed her. And I didn’t, I know that. But that doesn’t really matter, you know? Even if it wasn’t me, I still should’ve known, I should’ve seen the warning signs. Someone was hurting her right under my nose.” 

            This was bad. Ken Hutchinson was an uncle and a big brother, a cop and a partner, a protector at heart. But when it came to himself, sometimes he could be self-destructively exacting. On suspension, stuck at home, he had way too much time to think. If this dragged on any longer, he might even convince himself he’d let a little girl get hurt, and he really would destroy himself. 

            And Starsky felt helpless to do anything about it. 

            He started moving again, slowly, and eased himself down on the arm of the sofa, close to the chair Hutch sat in. “You haven’t seen her in two weeks, Hutch—chances are it happened then,” he said quietly. “And you had no reason to think you needed to see her. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just there for a mom who needed some help and a lonely little girl. Don’t let this twist into something it’s not.” 

            Hutch blinked slowly. “I know,” he whispered. “Even the thought of it makes me sick. But something still made Karen say I did this. How am I going to fight that? How am I going to fight them?” He gestured vaguely back at the window.

            Hutch wasn’t a quitter, never had been. But Starsky understood his helplessness. How did you defend yourself against a little girl you cared about, a media that didn’t care about you, and a case you weren’t allowed to go anywhere near? Starsky was just surprised Hutch wasn’t completely coming apart at the seams. “One step at a time. Right now it’s just an investigation—you haven’t been charged with anything. That means the proof’s not there. We’ll work it out.” 

            “Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t share your optimism, Starsky.” 

            “I got enough for us both.” At the end of the day, when he’d exhausted all his leads as a cop, this was the one thing he could still promise as a friend. That, and a deep well of faith in this man. 

             Hutch stared at him a long moment, then rolled his head back to look up at the ceiling. But he reached out and found Starsky’s leg, and gave it a pat. 

            It was something, and he would take it. Starsky gave the silence another minute, then pulled out his notebook and started reviewing his visit with Colleen. 

            They’d both managed to get some soup down for lunch, neither of them even pretending hunger but doing it for each other’s sake, Starsky supposed. Then he’d reluctantly left his partner, whose mood had nose-dived back into the cellar and stayed there while Starsky had gone over his notes, and went to work. Being a friend was important, but the best thing he could do for Hutch now was solve this case. And Hutch, even distracted and discouraged, had given him a good idea where to go next. 

            Colleen was innocent; they were both pretty certain of that. She’d seemed as shocked by the whole thing as Hutch, even if she hadn’t been comfortable talking about him. There were parents of other friends who knew Karen, and the usual teachers, a Girl Scout leader, a swimming coach. None of them had anything worse than parking tickets and a DUI citation for one dad. 

The ex-husband, however... Despite Colleen’s assertions he was out of the picture and Hutch’s equal certainty that Karen had never talked about him, Hutch kept coming back to the man, and that meant Starsky did, too. Even now, he trusted his partner’s instincts. 

Matt Clifford was an enigma, an introvert who hadn’t exercised his visitation rights with his daughter and who was turning out to be hard to track down. He had no record, nor did talking to his landlord and neighbors give Starsky any indication of a violent temper or any opportunity or reason to hurt his daughter. There was nothing suspicious there, nothing but the fact that they were running out of other candidates. 

Still, as the clock crept close to 7:00, Starsky had to once more admit defeat for the day. He stretched noisily in his office chair, popping joints, trying to collect his thoughts. One more stop and then he’d be back at Hutch’s, a visit he was both looking forward to and wishing he could avoid. 

“Cap’n?” Starsky half-leaned in through the doorway he’d just knocked on. Dobey was on the phone but waved him inside. He stood waiting until the older man hung up and turned to him. 

“Anything?”

Starsky shook his head in frustration. “Not yet. Tomorrow I’m gonna go talk to some of the people Matt Clifford works with, but it doesn’t look good.” He dropped into a chair. “I’m not sure where else to look.” 

“I’ve got some bad news,” Dobey said grimly. 

Starsky shoved himself upright. “Worse than the scavengers parked at Hutch’s door?”

“IA’s gotten wind of your investigation. I’ve covered for you as long as I could, but they’re not happy you went to see the mother or are talking to friends of the father. If you stay on this case, you’ll be making it harder on Hutch.” 

He’d been afraid of that. Starsky shut his eyes for a minute, feeling that same weight he could see crushing his partner. “I can’t give up on this, Cap’n.” 

There was a moment of silence. “How’s Hutch holding up?”

Starsky winced. “He’s not. He hasn’t left his place since those vampires set up camp outside. I’m involving him as much as I can, but he’s going crazy up there. He won’t even tell his sister—I think he’s afraid she’s gonna believe the papers and not let him around her kids anymore.” That one made his gut clench every time he thought about it. “I don’t know what to do for him anymore.” 

“Be his friend, Dave,” Dobey said with sympathy. “You’ve taken this as far as you can as a cop. Let IA handle that end now. They’ve got a good man on the case—he’ll give Hutch a fair deal, and then the reporters will back off, too.”

It didn’t help hearing what he’d already figured. But how was he supposed to be a friend when he hadn’t done everything he could to help? Sitting around talking about it or keeping Hutch company wasn’t what his partner needed; he needed this nightmare to end. But Dobey was right. Getting in IA’s way would just make them come down harder on Hutch and jeopardize the case, and that wasn’t the answer, either. That rock and hard place had never seemed quite as narrow before. Starsky nodded tiredly and climbed to his feet. “Yeah. Thanks for goin’ to bat on this one, Cap’n.” 

“He’s my friend, too, Starsky, but there’s nothing else we can do right now.” 

“Yeah,” Starsky said again, and left the room. 

He went by his desk, took one look at the stacks of paperwork, and reached for his jacket. Be a friend. It was all he had left to do. 

He just didn’t know if it was enough. 

The lights were on in the apartment, but the curtain was open. Even though the knot of reporters headed toward his car as soon as it came into sight, Starsky knew Hutch wasn’t home. He’d figured it was only a matter of time until claustrophobia got to his partner, and Hutch knew how to evade a bunch of civilians if he wanted to. With a swallowed sigh, Starsky turned toward the beach. 

It wasn’t hard to find his partner on the darkening and emptying waterfront. Hutch sat close to the shore, gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon as one hand idly picked up one handful of sand after another, letting it slowly trickle through his fingers. Only Hutch could be so intense about aimlessness, Starsky almost smiled, but bitterly. 

He didn’t know if it was guilt or sorrow that was eating at his partner now, but either was setting him up for a crash. They’d been able to work through most of their crises, everything from looking for a missing partner, to an antidote to a poison, to a way to beat the bad guys who were keeping help at bay. Inactivity just allowed too much dwelling on the details: a kid who’d been hurt, friends in pain he couldn’t help, a false accusation, being suspected of something so heinous. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren't so helpless to do anything about it. And Hutch didn’t even know his partner was off the case yet. 

Starsky sat in his car, watching the windswept blond for a long time, debating if he should go down and disturb what ill thoughts his partner was indulging in and add another to them. He finally decided to let it go for the night. He’d clearly come here to get away from people. Bad news could wait, and Hutch sometimes found his own peace at the beach. Let him have that at least. Starsky surely hadn’t been helping much of late.

Troubled, he started the car and turned toward home, leaving the lonely figure on the beach behind him. 

Starsky stood at the door a long time, undecided, ignoring the looks of those who passed him in the hallway. Cops only went to IA under suspicion or with information, and neither would improve his image with his fellow officers. 

His reputation was the last thing Starsky was worried about just then, however. Taking a breath, he opened the door and went in. 

The detective sitting at the desk inside looked up in surprise, which faded at the sight of Starsky. It was quickly replaced by a neutral expression, but not before Starsky caught an unexpected glimpse of sympathy. 

“Starsky. What can I do for you?”

“Chad,” he nodded respectfully. “I want to know how the case is going.” 

Ridley tilted his head. “Officially or unofficially?”

Starsky almost smiled, and held up his hands placatingly. “Dobey already gave me the lecture.” 

Another moment passed before Ridley nodded and waved Starsky to the empty chair in front of his desk. Starsky sat down, straightening out of his usual slouch. “You know I can’t tell you all the details,” the IA man began. “We already had one leak at the hospital.” 

Starsky shook his head, jaw clenched. “I’m not askin’ you to. Believe me, I’m no happier about the reporters houndin’ Hutch than you are. I just want to know how it looks for him.” 

“It’s Matthew Clifford.” 

Starsky blinked, not expecting either the answer or the bluntness. 

“He’s got a violent streak a lot of those around him don’t know about,” Ridley continued. “Co-workers and his ex have confirmed it.” 

Starsky leaned toward the desk. “But he hasn’t seen Karen in a couple years.”

“Actually, he’s been seen around his daughter’s school recently. We have one witness who’ll place Karen in his car one afternoon last week. Apparently, he’s been spending time with her without Colleen knowing it.” 

It was starting to come together: a father who wanted his kid back, a daughter protecting her dad, not to mention a conveniently good argument for the judge about why the mother shouldn’t be allowed to keep custody, letting her daughter stay with a stranger who abused her. Hutch’s occupation would have hurt him instead of helped him this time, too. Starsky’s face grew stony. “Let me guess—Clifford’s makin’ noises about taking Colleen back to court for his daughter.” 

“He filed a petition yesterday.” 

Starsky stared at him, finally shocked. “You knew all that?” he whispered. Then, his voice rising, “Just when were you gonna let Hutch off the hook, huh? Let him stew for a while, is that it? Did you know he’s been beatin’ himself up over this?”

Ridley actually looked contrite. “Starsky, I would’ve told you earlier if I could have, but we’re only just putting the pieces together now. You have to let us finish our investigation. I think we should have enough to officially clear Hutchinson within a day or two.” 

“Heck with that,” Starsky growled, shooting to his feet. “Maybe it’ll take that long to clear him _officially_ ,” he spat the word, “but I’m tellin’ him now.” 

“Fine,” Ridley’s quiet voice stopped him at the door. “I don’t feel good about leaving something hanging over the head of a good cop, either, believe it or not, and those reporters aren’t doing the Department any favors. We honestly didn’t know until just a little while ago, ourselves.” 

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered, and walked out. 

He called Dobey on the way to Venice, silently relieved to find Hutch’s exoneration was news to the captain, too, and that Dobey was as glad to hear about IA’s findings as Starsky had been. The captain didn’t ask him where he was going, only gave him the last few hours of his shift off and wished him good luck. 

The absence of the LTD—and every trace of the reporters—was the first thing Starsky noticed as he pulled up at Venice Place, but he went up to the apartment just in case. He made a circuit of it, then stood in the middle of the living room and looked around in puzzlement. Something was wrong. 

At first glance, the apartment was merely empty, everything neatly in its place. But there was more here. Starsky turned in place again, studying the room. 

Hutch’s guitar was gone from against the wall where it was usually propped.

His frown deepening, Starsky prowled the house, looking for both the guitar and anything else that was gone. The guitar was definitely missing, as was Hutch’s overnight bag. His sleeping bag, too, although the rest of his camping gear was intact. Some of his clothing was gone, the warmer stuff, along with his winter coat and boots. His toothbrush. His bank book. All the perishables in his refrigerator.

Starsky went cold. He didn’t look any further, rushing to the front door. It was only then he noticed the note taped to the inside, his name scrawled across the front. He yanked it off and opened it with stiff fingers.

_Starsk,_

            _I’m sorry, I have to get out of here for a while to think, get away from all the bloodsuckers. I’ll keep in touch with Dobey in case charges are filed and they need me back for the case, otherwise I’ll be back when I get some things sorted out. I wish things had gone down differently._

_Please understand._

_Hutch_

Starsky understood too well. And it made him furious. 

He walked out to the Torino with angry strides. Hutch hadn’t called because he knew Starsky would try to talk him out of it. _That’s ’cause it’s a stupid idea, partner._ He was trying not to even think about how much it bothered him that Hutch would take off like that without saying goodbye. The whole car rattled as Starsky slammed the door behind him. And returning when he was ready? _Yeah, right. When’s that gonna be, when the idea of being charged with child abuse doesn’t bother you anymore?_ He peeled away from the curb with a squeal of rubber. 

What was he supposed to do in the meantime, just sit and wait for Hutch to figure things out who-knows-where? That’s what it seemed everyone kept telling him to do: wait, sit it out, let the others do their thing and it would all turn out all right. The only problem was, that wasn’t how Starsky worked. Sit still too long, especially with his partner’s reputation and well-being on the line, and he’d explode. And IA wouldn’t be too happy with him when he did. 

Starsky sped up and turned toward Westchester. 

            Hutch had taken his bank book, which meant he could have cleaned out his savings. If he did plan to camp out, that could last him a few months without using his credit card. It would make him harder to track, but the bank was a place to start checking. He said he’d call Dobey, too, which meant they could at least get word to him about Matt Clifford. Of course, when would that be, two, three days? With Hutch beating himself up in the meantime? 

            Or, Starsky slowed as he turned onto his street and his house came into view down the block, it could be two or three minutes. 

            The LTD was parked in his driveway. 

            Relief immediately cooled his anger, followed just as quickly by worry. Hutch had taken off the night before; had he changed his mind about leaving? Starsky pulled up next to the curb in front of his house and got out. He walked toward the Ford, seeing the silhouette of his partner in the driver’s seat, not hurrying now as he tried to figure out what to say.

            Hutch didn’t look at him as he reached the LTD, but his window was down. He looked tired, as if he’d been up all night driving. 

            Starsky wordlessly dropped the letter through the window, into his lap. 

            Hutch looked down, picked it up, mouth twitching in what might have been chagrin. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

            “So what made you come back?” Starsky asked, trying to sound neutral when the emotions of the last few days were ping-ponging around inside him. 

            The blond head shook. “I didn’t want to say goodbye like this.” He held up the letter. 

            He wasn’t staying. Starsky's earlier relief vanished. He crouched beside the LTD and cleared his throat. “Matt Clifford’s the guy we’re lookin’ for.” 

            Hutch looked at him, shuttered. 

            “IA’s not gonna make it official for another day or two, but Chad told me off the record you were clear.” 

            Hutch rubbed at his eyes. Starsky dropped a hand on his upper arm, felt how tight the muscles were, and kneaded them lightly. 

            “Clifford filed a petition yesterday to get custody of his daughter, and he’s got a temper. Probably figured he could kill two birds with one stone, knock Karen around and accuse you of doin’ it so Colleen looks like an unfit mother.” 

            “Smart guy,” Hutch murmured.

            Starsky snorted. “Yeah.” For all his trying, Hutch’s arm was still rock-hard. “You wanna come inside?” he asked hopefully. 

            Hutch shook his head again. “No.” He finally looked at Starsky, there was no relief in his eyes. “I’m still going. I need to get away from all the whispers and stares, you know? Take some time to think, to sort things out.” 

            “I got beer,” Starsky said gently. 

            That actually coaxed a smile from his partner, albeit a tattered one. “I need to do this myself, Starsk. I need to figure out if I’m still cut out for this job. I can’t go back to work this way, with my head screwed up and everybody looking at me—I wouldn't be any use to you or Dobey.”

            Starsky tried to find an argument to that, to promise everything would work out, but he couldn’t. He had never lied to his partner before and wasn’t about to start now, even though Hutch’s doubts about his job sent a cold jolt through him. “Where are you gonna go?” he finally asked. 

            A slight shrug. “East.” 

            There was a lot of east out there. Starsky’s heart broke a little more He didn’t know if it was for his partner or himself. “Okay. But remember, I’ll be here. And if you’re gone too long, I’m gonna come find you.”   

            Hutch’s eyes softened. He reached out to grip Starsky’s shoulder, and for the first time in the conversation, Starsky entertained hope he would have his partner back before too long.

            Starsky covered Hutch’s hand with his. “Do me a favor?” His throat was a little tight around the words.

            “Yeah.” No hesitation, no conditions. 

            “Keep in touch with Dobey anyway.” 

            Hutch nodded, looking at him as though he could see right through him. But he was still leaving. That alone told Starsky all he needed to know about how important this was to his friend. The kindest thing he could do now was to let him go. 

            Starsky stood slowly, breaking their contact as gently as he could. “See ya,” he said with an almost smile. 

            Hutch looked at him another moment, then nodded and started the car. He pulled out of the driveway slowly, hesitated, then raised a hand in parting and drove away.

            Starsky stood there long after the LTD had turned the corner, mentally following its route out to the highway. 

            Then he silently turned and went inside his house, very much alone. 

            “Starsky?”

            Starsky didn’t look up from the typewriter he was laboring over, just shifted his pencil to one side of his mouth. “Yeah, Cap’n.” 

            “I’ve got another number for you.” 

            The pencil dropped, the typewriter forgotten. Starsky was in his boss’s office in seconds. 

            “You talk to him?”

            “No, he left a message last night—I just got it. Here.” Dobey reached out a slip of paper to Starsky and he grabbed it, giving the phone number a cursory glance. Another unfamiliar area code, but it wouldn’t take long to track down. “Did you reach him at the last one?” the captain continued.

            Starsky had tried, wanting to give Hutch word that Matt Clifford had been arrested and charged with child abuse, and Hutch had been completely and officially cleared. Between that and Hutch’s absence, the media had completely lost interest. The only murmurs Starsky heard now were quiet offers of support from friends and colleagues. “Left a message with the motel owner,” he said distractedly. At the silence that greeted his comment, Starsky looked up to see Dobey shaking his head. 

“He hasn’t called you?”

The sympathy was killing him. His boss, his co-workers, even Huggy had started giving him that doe-eyed look every time Hutch’s name came up. It had only been a week, but everyone seemed sure Hutch wasn’t coming back. It was like a funeral without a body. 

Starsky wasn’t about to admit that he’d hoped to hear from Hutch after the news about Clifford. Someone still had to have some faith. Starsky set his jaw and shook his head. 

“Not yet. I didn’t ask him to.” 

Dobey looked like he wanted to say something else, but Starsky wasn’t up for it just then. Giving his boss a nod of thanks, he slipped out of the office and back into the squadroom, the precious link to his absent partner clenched in his hand. 

It only took one phone call to attach a location to the phone number: a phone booth in Scotts Bluff, Nebraska. Nebraska, Starsky’s eyebrows climbed, and he opened a drawer to pull out the map that was on top. Three ink circles stretched through Utah and Colorado. Starsky searched for Scotts Bluff, finally finding the dot near the western edge of the state, and circled it, too. Yeah, just as he figured, yet another point along the direct line Hutch seemed to be drawing between California and Minnesota. He was going home. Starsky didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. 

He’d called Hutch’s sister when his partner’s destination became apparent, and found without surprise that she and the elder Hutchinsons hadn’t heard anything about the Clifford case. It wasn’t something Starsky normally would have done, talking to Hutch’s family behind his back, but if he showed up there, they would need to know. Finding out from Starsky had been a shock, but it had given them time to process and would save Hutch from having to rehash the story. Starsky had been relieved to know Hutch's parents and sister would be waiting for him with open arms. It was a small thing to do for him, but Starsky hoped it helped. 

Now he was back to just waiting. 

Starsky studied the map a moment more, then sighed and slid it back into the drawer. He hated waiting. 

            Even more so, he really missed his partner. 

            “Here’s the last of the robbery-assault figures.” Starsky dropped the stapled report on Dobey’s desk and turned to leave, stretching to get the kinks out of his neck and back. Driving a desk was turning out to be harder on the body than driving the streets, not to mention a lot less interesting. 

            “Hey, Starsky?” 

            Dobey’s voice called him back. Starsky turned. “Yeah?”

            “It’s been two weeks.” The captain’s eyes weren’t quite meeting his. “No word from Hutch—maybe he isn’t coming back.” 

            Starsky just made a tired face. He’d thought the same thing more than once, too, and couldn’t blame his boss for wondering. Besides, he heard the concern behind the words. “Some things take a lot of sorting out, Cap’n. He’ll be back.” Hutch had said he would, and that was that. 

            But even Starsky wondered when. 

            Dobey cleared his throat. “I can’t have a detective who’s able to be on the streets restricted to desk duty indefinitely. Have you thought about—?”

            “No,” Starsky said sharply. More than one person had already raised the possibility of his partnering with someone until Hutch got back, with the clear understanding it was temporary. Even that was too long, however. But Dobey’s expression made him back off a fraction. It hadn’t been an attack. “Just a little longer, Cap’n. Please.” 

            Dobey pursed his lips, made a face, and finally nodded. “I can put it off one more week. But sooner or later, I’m going to need an answer, Starsky.”

            A pause, then Starsky nodded. It was more than he’d expected, actually. 

            Back at his desk, Starsky cleared off the remnants of the report-collation he’d been doing and grabbed his jacket. He hesitated as he pulled it on, then opened his desk drawer. There were six circles on the map now, the last one in Duluth. All of them had been left as messages when neither he nor Dobey were in; Hutch didn’t want to talk. But at least he was calling. The last number had been left five days before, but while the number was from another payphone, Starsky figured Hutch was with his family by now. The next call, God willing, would be to say he was on his way back. 

            And he had, by Starsky’s count, about five days to make it. 

            Sighing, he shoved the drawer shut and went out the squadroom door with a halfhearted wave to those detectives still working. 

            It was never straight home from work, though, not since Hutch had left. The first stop was the open-air market on Olvera Street for fresh vegetables and fruit. Venice came next, not exactly on his way home but part of his route now nonetheless. Starsky picked up the mail in the Venice Place lobby and then climbed the stairs, letters and bag of groceries in hand. 

            The plants were starting to miss their master’s touch. Starsky had talked Mrs. Johnson into letting him take care of Hutch’s place, but he wondered if that was the best choice as he inspected the wilting leaves. “Guess I don’t sweet talk you the way he does,” he murmured. It beat listening to the silence in the empty apartment. Starsky switched to tuneless whistling while he watered the plants and checked the furniture for dust. Still clean from the day before. 

The kitchen was the last stop. Starsky eyed the contents of the refrigerator critically, tossing a head of lettuce that was starting to turn brown and a questionable quart of milk. The contents of the grocery bag went in their place. He shut the door, glancing around the place one last time. Everything where it should be...except the occupant. 

            The melancholy was getting harder to shrug off every day. Starsky saw no reason at that moment to try, with no one there to put on a good face for. He just gathered up the garbage with stooped shoulders and weary movements and took it with him on his way out, carefully locking the door behind him. 

            There was a moment every time he turned the corner onto his block when hope reawakened that the LTD would be sitting in front of his house. Every day he came home from work, every errand he returned from. Starsky had almost been tempted to take up jogging just to have an excuse to go out and come back again, until reason had fortunately returned. Still, the hope hadn’t flagged, and disappointment was no less keen when the rusted, dun-colored car wasn’t sitting there as he drove up. 

            Today was no different. Starsky shrugged it off, pretending at least to himself that he didn’t care. That would make the long evening a little easier to bear, anyway. 

            He fingered a well-worn piece of paper in his pocket as he got out and locked the Torino. The last number Hutch had called from was probably not much good, payphone and all, but Starsky had kept it anyway. If Hutch couldn’t be reached that way, he probably could through his family, and Starsky already had their numbers. He’d promised his partner space, but maybe Hutch wouldn’t mind a call just to see how he was doing? 

            Brightening at the thought, Starsky hurried up the stairs and through the door, shutting it behind him. 

            And stopped dead at the sight of the crown of blond hair visible over the arm of his couch. 

            Couldn’t be. 

            Starsky stepped gingerly nonetheless, soundless as he crossed the dozen feet to the sofa. Halfway there, he could already see the lean body stretched out along the cushions, sock-clad feet curled against one armrest, tousled head propped up on the other.

            Starsky skirted disbelief as neatly as he did the couch, and as his unexpected guest’s face came into sight, the heaviness he’d carried inside his gut those two weeks lifted and vanished, replaced by stunned joy. 

            Hutch was back. There, in Starky's apartment. Fast asleep on his couch.

            His tan had deepened to a sun-baked gold, making his hair look more white than its usual pale yellow. Obviously, he’d been spending a lot of time outside, and he was dressed for it, too: worn jeans, a flannel shirt, boots tumbled on the floor. One palm was turned up beside him, and there were fresh calluses on the fingers and palm. And the face... Starsky crouched down to take a good long look at his partner’s face. Relaxed in sleep, but more than that, free of the grief it had carried those last few days before he’d left. He looked tired, a little thinner, a lot less groomed, but good. 

            Starsky watched him a minute, maybe longer, then finally nodded to himself and stood. Still moving silently, he went into the kitchen. For the first time in two weeks, he felt like cooking a meal again. Heck, he felt like throwing a party, but a quiet dinner would do for now. 

            He was halfway through mixing the spaghetti sauce when reality sunk in and his hands slowed and stopped. There was some small part of him that had feared, despite his determined optimism, that this was it, that Hutch wouldn’t be returning. Starsky had buried it, ignored it, denied it, but the trepidation had haunted him like a ghost those last two weeks. And now, there Hutch was, just on the other side of the wall, peacefully _asleep_ , for God’s sake....

            Starsky dropped the wooden spoon and stepped back out of the kitchen. Still there. He really was back. Starsky rubbed his eyes, an emotional grin breaking out that he was glad Hutch wasn’t awake to see. Starsky finally tore himself away and, feeling about ten years younger, returned to cooking.

            The sauce had been left to simmer for nearly an hour on the stove when a creak came from the couch. Starsky looked up from the magazine he’d been flipping through, to see Hutch’s eyes blink open. His partner dragged a hand over his face, then lifted his head and glanced around, eyes soon lighting on Starsky sitting across the coffee table from him. 

Hutch offered him a small smile. “Hi.” He spoke almost shyly. 

            “Hi, yourself.” Starsky set the magazine aside, giving an answering smile to the one man who was always welcome in his home, even when Starsky had least expected him. _Especially_ when Starsky least expected him. 

            Hutch sat up with a comfortable groan. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep through you coming home.” 

            “’S okay, looked like you needed it.” Starsky got to his feet. “The spaghetti’s probably stuck together in a lump, but it should still be edible.” 

            Hutch looked at him more closely, like he’d been expecting more than that, but finally let it go, seemingly relieved to be wrong. “Sounds good.” He stood and followed Starsky into the kitchen. 

            The table had already been set for two. Feeling a little dazed, Starsky added the saucepan, followed by the pot of pasta. Hutch immediately lifted the lids, sniffing the contents appreciatively. 

            “Smells good, too.” 

            “Must be a while since you ate,” Starsky said only half-teasingly, eyeing his partner as he pulled a pan of garlic bread from the oven. 

            “I think it was somewhere in Utah,” Hutch answered absently, sliding onto a chair and serving himself a glob of spaghetti. 

            “How long ago was that?”

            “Early this morning.” 

            That was a good chunk of his route in one day; no wonder he’d been exhausted. Hutch hadn’t been as leisurely coming back as he’d been leaving. Starsky filed that revelation away for the time being. He got out a pair of beers and the grated Parmesan from the refrigerator, retrieved the garlic bread, and sat down to share a meal with his friend. 

            Hutch dug in like he hadn’t seen food in a week. Starsky quietly absorbed his partner’s pleasure, and found himself suddenly remembering how much he enjoyed eating, too. His appetite seemed to have left and returned with his partner. Among other things.

            Hutch was on his second serving, initial starvation quenched, before he glanced up at Starsky. He still looked unusually uncertain. “So, did Dobey have you riding a desk?”

            Starsky knew it wasn’t the idle question it seemed. He swallowed before answering. “Actually, the cap’n wanted me out on the streets—we’ve been a little short lately.” 

            Hutch set his fork down, a frown gathering between his eyebrows. 

Starsky didn’t have it in him to be mean, not now. He quickly shook his head. “I asked him to give me a couple’a weeks first. I’ve been workin’ on departmental figures, filing reports, and spending lotsa time on the phone doin’ follow-ups. I think I’m getting deaf in that ear.” He rubbed the side of his head.

            Hutch’s mouth twitched, caught between sympathy and amusement. “Great.”

            “It wasn’t,” Starsky said, more seriously than he’d intended. 

            Hutch looked at him a moment, then nodded and went back to eating. 

            The pauses were awkward but not uneasy. The spaghetti was only the appetizer for the evening and they both knew it, but Starsky was more or less comfortable with letting his partner set the pace. Hutch would tell him what was on his mind when he was ready. But in the meantime, there was no use ruining a good meal. “Hey. Perkowitz is getting married.” 

            Hutch immediately smiled. It was good to see him smile so easily. “You’re kidding? Who’d she talk into that?”

            “Some guy, works down at the DA’s office. They kept meeting when she was down there for Juvie court. She came in to show off her ring the other day.” 

            “Good for her.” 

            “Simmons and Babcock caught that guy who was settin’ all those fires. Turned out to be an ex-firefighter.” 

            “We always figured that.” 

            “Reporters didn’t—you shoulda seen some of the headlines.” 

            “I’ll bet.” Hutch scraped his plate clean and pushed it back with a contented sigh. 

            “You want any more?”

            “I don’t think I’ll be able to move for the rest of the night if I do.” 

            “That’s okay.” Starsky shrugged.

            Hutch looked at him as if he’d heard more in that answer than Starsky had intended. He seemed about to say something, reconsidered, tried again. “Were there any headlines when they arrested Matt Clifford?”

            Starsky pushed his plate aside, too, no longer interested in the few bites left on it, and wove his fingers together on the table in front of him. “Just a few lines on the community news page. But the reporters are gone.”

            “Yeah?” Hutch’s eyebrow rose skeptically.

            “Paper cleared your name, and I guess you weren’t interesting anymore.”

            Hutch rubbed the beer bottle with his thumb. “Shame, I was just getting used to the new neighbors.” 

            Starsky snorted. He watched as Hutch pushed his chair back and stood, chest growing tight at the thought of him leaving again, but Hutch only walked over to the cupboard and retrieved a pair of mugs. “It’s over, Hutch.” Rumors would linger as they always did, but then, with the two of them, that wasn’t anything new.

            The bent head bobbed once as Hutch gathered what looked like the fixings for tea with as much familiarity as if he were in his own kitchen. 

            “I went to see Colleen again. She’d like to see you sometime. She said to tell you Karen’s doing okay, sorting stuff out.” 

            He saw Hutch’s jaw shift at that, but in profile it was hard to tell more. Starsky wished he’d say something. 

            Hutch put the filled kettle on the stove and turned it on high, then came back to the table and sprawled into his chair, one finger absently tracing a pattern on the tabletop. Starsky was casting about for something else to add, when Hutch finally spoke. 

            “I went up to Minnesota.” 

            Finally. Starsky leaned back in his chair, feeling mixed relief and discomfort. “I know.” 

            Hutch glanced up at him, clearly surprised, before his gaze softened in realization. “It’s harvest season in the Midwest,” he continued, but his voice had firmed, his hand stilled now. “I went from farm to farm along the way, signing up for a day’s work as I went.” 

            That explained the tan and the calluses. Starsky encouraged him to continue with a silent look.

            “I didn’t even realize I was going to Duluth until I was halfway there.” 

            Starsky almost smiled at that. 

            Hutch noticed. “Yeah, I know, you probably had it figured out before I did. I just...I wasn’t sure I was ready to go home, see my folks and Chris.” 

            And Chris’s kids. Starsky nodded his understanding. 

            “I, uh.” Hutch’s eyes were on the table now. “I hired out on my grandfather’s farm, spent three days working for the people who own it now before I got up the nerve to call my folks.” 

            Starsky suddenly got that Hutch hadn’t realized Starsky had been tracing his route. His family must not have told him about Starsky’s call. He wasn’t familiar enough with the Hutchinsons to know if that was good or bad. 

            “I should’ve known better.” Hutch tossed him an embarrassed smile. “You know that story about the prodigal son?” 

            Starsky chuckled, relieved to see where this was going and glad for his friend’s sake. “Yeah.”

            “Well, in Duluth, the fatted calf’s actually filet mignon, but it was close.” 

            “How ’bout your sister?”

            The smile disappeared. “I, uh, I told Chris about...about Karen. I thought she’d take it worse than she did, but, uh, she just said if I thought that would get me out of babysitting while she and Greg went out to dinner, I was crazy.” 

            Starsky had always liked her, but right now he was seriously thinking of sending her a bouquet of roses. “And?” he prompted gently. 

            Hutch blew out a breath. “It was fine. Good, actually. Scared me a little at first, to be honest, but then it was just like old times. They’re good kids.” 

            With a good uncle. Starsky gave his partner a fond look. “You expected it to be different? You didn’t change, Hutch.” 

            “I wasn’t sure about that.” The admission was quiet, coming from someplace deep. 

            Starsky was saved an immediate answer when the kettle began to whine, then shriek. Hutch stood again to take care of it, pouring water into both mugs and adding a pair of tea bags. Into one, he dumped two heaping teaspoons of sugar and a squirt of lemon; into the other, he dribbled some honey. He was carrying them back to the table when he caught Starsky’s amused look and winced. 

            “Uh, sorry—you want some tea?”

            “Sure,” Starsky said pleasantly, and took the mug with the sugar and lemon. Hutch had nursed him through enough bouts of illness to know how he liked his tea, but it was still comfortable somehow to see how naturally it came. And even though Starsky didn’t drink much of the stuff when he wasn’t sick, the hot drink was soothing going down, warm and intimate like the conversation they were having. Two weeks apart hadn’t dulled the comfort level between them, even if the words were sometimes a little hard to put together. 

            They sipped quietly, Starsky watching his partner, Hutch reading tea leaves, for all the intensity he was directing at his mug. When no more seemed forthcoming, Starsky swallowed and spoke up. 

            “That why you came back? Because you figured out things hadn’t changed?”

            Hutch soberly shook his head. “No. I just realized my answers weren’t out there somewhere.” 

            Starsky thought about that, trying to understand but not quite making it

            Hutch cleared his throat and met Starsky’s eyes again. “I was running away, Starsk. Same way I used to do every Christmas—things get bad and I take off, as if everything’ll work itself out while I’m gone.” 

            “It did this time,” Starsky said practically. 

            “No thanks to my leaving. IA would’ve tracked down Matt Clifford if I’d stayed here and kept doing my job, too.” 

            “You were on suspension.” Maybe he shouldn’t have been offering excuses, but the desire to help your partner ran deep.

            Hutch shook his head. “Are you saying you think I was right to leave?” 

            Starsky leaned in and said earnestly, “I’m saying I think you have to do what you have to do.” 

            Hutch’s tension seemed to melt in front of his eyes. “You’re a good man, David Starsky,” he said simply. 

            Which made Starsky squirm, even though he was touched. “Don’t sell yourself short, either, pal.”            

            Hutch nodded, fell silent again. 

            Starsky chewed on the inside of his mouth. “So...you’re staying.” 

            A look, another nod. “I’m staying. My answers were here all along.” 

            Starsky didn’t want to pry further than that, knowing now what he needed to. Hutch was okay; Starsky could see it in his eyes, his posture, every motion. He’d tell Starsky the details if and when he wanted to, and if not, that was okay by Starsky. A man was entitled to his private doubts and wonderings. 

There was one thing Starsky didn’t want to leave unanswered. 

“You don’t always take off when things get bad.” 

            Hutch’s eyebrow rose, questioning. 

            “You’ve always been here when I needed ya, no matter how rough it got.” 

            It wasn’t obvious under that tan, but he could see the flush of color in Hutch’s cheeks. Starsky watched affectionately as the blue eyes were suddenly everywhere but on him. It was just too easy sometimes. 

            He showed some mercy, reached over to pat one of those brown hands. “Welcome home, partner.” 

            The other one, warm from the mug of tea, immediately covered his. 

            That pretty much said it all. 

            “So, where exactly is the Squash again?” Starsky asked for the second time as they climbed the stairs. 

            “Uh, well, by now it should be at Merl’s. They said they’d tow it in this morning.” 

            “The same ‘they’ who brought you home?” 

            “My auto club, yeah. They picked me up and dropped me off at your place.” 

            It hadn’t escaped him that Hutch had come to his apartment first instead of his home, but Starsky kept that observation to himself. “From...?”

            “About sixty miles outside the city where the car died. I told you this already, Starsky.” 

            “Yeah, okay, it just surprised me is all.” 

            “I don’t know why—you’re always expecting my car to break down.” They reached the landing, and Hutch pulled out his keys. 

            “Oh, I’m not surprised it broke down. I just didn’t expect it to make it as far as it did.” 

            Hutch turned to glare at him. 

Starsky gave him his sweetest smile in return. 

Hutch shook his head, twisting the key hard in the lock, and walked in first, muttering, “So help me, Starsky...” 

            And then stopped, taking in his apartment with surprise. 

            Starsky glanced around, too, suddenly self-conscious. The plants still looked droopy, and there was a slightly stale smell in the air that he’d planned to air out. Hutch had beaten him home, and while Starsky was immeasurably glad for that, it wasn’t quite the welcome back he’d hoped to give. 

            “Did Mrs. Johnson...?” Hutch turned back to him, then stopped mid-question at the sight of Starsky’s face. “Starsk,” he said softly. 

            Starsky shrugged and shifted his feet. “I told her I’d take care of the plants, but I think they missed ya. Oh, the mail’s over there—I paid the bills over the weekend—and, uh, there’s some food in the fridge...” 

            The look Hutch was giving him told him exactly how much he thought of Starsky’s housekeeping skills, and would have been ample thanks in itself. But Hutch patted Starsky’s stomach gently as he passed him to pick up the mail by the door, then clasped his arm on the way back toward the kitchen. 

It wasn’t a bad welcome back, after all. 

            Hutch looked in the refrigerator, shook his head, and glanced back at Starsky. “You want some breakfast? Looks like I’ve got some salami this time.” 

            Starsky grinned. “Maybe later—I gotta go or Dobey’s gonna blow a fuse. You gonna be okay here without your car?”

            Hutch shut the refrigerator door. “I’m coming with you.” 

            Starsky blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “To the station?”

            Hutch’s stride slowed. “You said IA’s cleared me, right?”

            “Well, yeah...” 

            “You don’t mind if I go to work then, do you? Or maybe you want a few more days of desk duty?” Hutch asked pointedly. 

            Starsky broke into a sloppy grin. “Nope.” 

            “Then I think it’s time I got back to work, don’t you?”

            “Yup.” Starsky rocked happily on his heels, his cup running over. Having Hutch back had been joy enough; he hadn’t dared assumed his partner would be ready to jump right back into the flow. Although... Starsky sobered. “You sure you’re ready?”

            “That’s why I came home.” A light answer, delivered with unexpected gravity. Hutch winked at him before disappearing into his bedroom. “Just give me a few minutes to change.” 

            Home. Hutch hadn’t once called Minnesota that when they’d talked the night before. Home was what he’d crossed half the country in two days to get back to. Starsky had caught that, too, and it pretty much made that moment one of the best in his memory. “Don’t change too much,” he murmured. 

            “What?” Hutch called out. 

            Starsky started. “I just said, I can wait.” 

            “Oh. Good.” 

            And he always would. However long it took. 

            The radio was playing some nameless oldie in the background. Starsky hummed along under his breath as he turned the page. He was just getting to the good part, where Frankenstein’s monster killed the doctor’s bride on their wedding night. That scene always gave him the creeps, and he loved that. 

            Behind him, through the open door into the greenhouse, Hutch started whistling some completely different tune than what the radio was playing. Starsky rolled his eyes and stopped humming, trying to concentrate on the book while classical music clashed in the background with rock-and-roll. 

The song on the radio burst into a chorus full of doo-wops and sha-la-las just as Hutch’s whistling reached a crescendo. Starsky groaned, dropping the book into his lap. “Hey!”

            “Yeah?” 

            There was a knock at the door, loud in the sudden silence as the song on the radio ended and Hutch stopped whistling. Starsky grimaced. “Someone’s at the door.” He struggled up off the couch to answer it. 

            Colleen and Karen Clifford stood on the landing, Colleen’s hands on her daughter’s shoulders. She gave Starsky a nervous smile. 

“Dave, hi. I was, uh, just wondering if Ken’s home?”

 Starsky finally found his tongue. “Uh, yeah.” Then stalled. Hutch had only been back two days. Seeing Colleen and Karen hadn’t even come up yet except in the vaguest of terms. Starsky had no idea if he was even ready. “Listen, Colleen—”

“Who is it?”

He hadn’t heard his partner’s footsteps come up behind him, yet was aware of them suddenly stopping at the sight of the new arrivals. Starsky glanced back at Hutch to see the smile leech from his face, along with his composure. At least the sudden apprehension wasn’t obvious, except to Starsky. 

Colleen straightened. “Ken. Hi. I’m sorry to just show up like this—I know this is incredibly awkward—but Karen really wanted to see you, and I was just hoping...” 

Hutch seemed to shake himself. “No, come on in.” He passed Starsky without a glance, touching Colleen’s shoulder in invitation, then faltering almost invisibly as he looked down at Karen, who gave him a shy look. 

“Hi, Hutch.” 

The soft words seemed to banish Hutch's worry, at least. Starsky sighed with relief as his partner’s face softened. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Hutch said, cupping a hand against a cheek. “I’m glad you came.” 

The two guests shuffled inside, and Starsky closed the door, not that anyone seemed to notice. He watched as Karen looked up at her mom. “Can I talk to him by myself?” 

Colleen’s eyebrows climbed, and she glanced at Hutch, then back at her daughter. “Sure, honey. I’ll be right over there.” 

Karen nodded with more maturity than Starsky would have credited a ten-year-old with, then took Hutch’s hand without hesitation and led him into the kitchen. Hutch went with her, his posture still tentative but his actions unhesitating. Starsky could just imagine what was going through his mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt something.” 

Colleen dragged Starsky's attention away from the pair sitting at the kitchen table in earnest conversation. “No problem, we were just takin’ it easy. First day off in a while.” 

“I know this was hard on you, too—I’m so sorry we put you both through this. I didn’t really believe Ken could’ve done anything like that, but Matt...” 

But Matt had been her husband, and Karen was her daughter. Starsky could understand her priorities. His had been with the blond sitting a dozen feet away, and those had come even before a child victim and her worried mom. Colleen probably knew it, too, with the uneasy look she was giving him. 

Starsky shook his head. “Don’t worry about it—we’re just glad Karen’s okay.” 

“She will be. She’s talked a lot to me and the counselor, and...I think she needed this.” 

From the looks of things, Starsky was inclined to agree. Already, the girl was giggling at something Hutch had said, and Hutch was finally relaxing, too, reaching out to give her ponytail a playful tug. 

“I should’ve trusted him. He’s one of the good guys,” Colleen mused from beside him. 

The corner of Starsky’s mouth turned up. “Yeah, he is.” 

The co-conspirators in the kitchen agreed on something and stood. Starsky noticed Hutch’s hand on the girl’s shoulder now, as comfortable and protective as her mother’s had been. “We’re gonna go down to the boardwalk and get some ice cream—you two want to come?” Hutch asked them.

“Sure.” Colleen smiled.

 Starsky could sense her relief. And Hutch... It had been a while, even before this whole mess started, since Starsky had seen him grinning like that. He grinned back, nodding his agreement. Ice cream sounded terrific.

He brought up the rear of the procession as they went out the door, when Hutch turned to him with a frown. “Hey.” 

Starsky gave him his full attention. “Yeah? You okay?”

“Actually...I’m broke.” 

Starsky hoped his look was withering. It was hard to tell because even frowning, Hutch still managed to look so darn happy. Starsky's sigh was one of long-suffering, and he pulled out his wallet, digging out a pair of bills. “Here.” 

Hutch took the money and gave him a quiet look before laying a hand on his arm and nodding. “Thanks.” 

It was for more than the loan. Starsky stared after his partner as Hutch turned away, feeling an old lump in his throat again, but it wasn’t painful this time. 

_ They _ were back. 

Quietly smiling, Starsky walked out of the apartment after his partner and silently shut the door behind him.


End file.
